


(I promise) I'll do better

by Waistcoat35



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, Happy Ending, He's alive nothing hurts anymore, Jim Moriarty's Sister - Freeform, Just realised it was National SIblings Day when I posted this wow, Older Sister, Sad, Sherlock John and Mycroft get cameos, Sibling bond, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: This is her routine now. It's changed since he's not here anymore - new habits have replaced the old, to fill the gap left by her younger brother's death. They were best friends, and now Kenneth Brook is alone. But as a phone call informs her, not nearly as alone as she thought...She'll protect him where she couldn't last time - she'll do better.(Title inspired by Light, Sleeping at Last)





	

Kenneth Brook is following the usual routine now - make the tea, switch on the radio and settle down to attempt (and fail) the Times crossword. Sigh in frustration, look up to see why James isn't helping her - remember. Toss the paper aside, get up, pour the extra cup of tea down the sink. (At least it isn't coffee anymore - she's finally managed to get it into her head that she doesn't need to buy coffee anymore because he (because nobody, she tells herself,) isn't there to drink it.

Flick the television on, notice that cheesy history drama they like is on, turn around to shout to him that the new episode had aired - remember, change the channel, wonder why things have to be like this. 

Finish the tea, rinse the "World's Okay-est Sister" mug and return it to its place by the kettle, try very hard not to look at the extra mug she'd automatically placed there ("Coffee helps with Stayin' Alive" reads the slogan. She still chuckles bitterly, thinking that coffee's a bit useless now.) and decide to go out for a while.

Weave in and out of the London pedestrians, wincing as she gets pummelled from side to side by busybodies at rush hour (he wouldn't have stood for that, he could always stride through the throngs of people without flickering an eyelid) until she's reached her usual cafe, the quant little sandwich bar beside a door she had come to hold a smouldering resentment for - a door she's often considered walking through to meet the flat's famous inhabitant and see if, somehow, he can help with her problems. That won't ever happen, though - if your main problem is that somebody is dead, what good is it to turn to somebody who's probably rejoicing that said person isn't alive any longer?

The routine continues. Sit at her usual table by the window, watching other people go about their mundane lives in their own little bubbles, not noticing nor caring what is happening to the people around them. Wonder about the strange bloke with the umbrella - and why his gaze always lingeres on her features for a second too long. On some days freeze, rigid in her seat as somebody more familiar strides past, coat billowing in the wind with his faithful doctor in tow. (That was them once. Now there is nobody to follow behind, nobody she is supposed to be watching out for because that would be a second chance, and when she's failed to protect him why should she be trusted to protect anybody else she cares for?)

One day, the routine is broken. She arrives at the cafe, watches as people pass by. At one point the familiar figure leaves the flat, alone this time. He stops in front of the cafe, scanning every seat with an enviable efficiency. Kenneth looks the other way, determined not to meet his gaze. (If she does, she isn't sure what he'll find there. She hopes it won't be resentment, or pain, or fear - but if she looks him in the eye she can't say what she will do.) She watches through her peripheral vision - it seems as though he is facing in her direction, and she is worried he'll come over and, heaven forbid, try and talk to her. (People say that he doesn't do small talk, but then again when have any of her associations with such people been normal? She's played cards with Britain's most dangerous sniper, for god's sake. She's watched X Factor with Britain's most dangerous human being. Small talk with the world's only consulting detective? Not the biggest thing in her achievement book.)

After a moment or two, he seems to have vanished. She notices the man with the umbrella isn't here today. Perhaps the two oddities are linked.

Then her mobile buzzes - an unknown number. Must be important if they're too high-security to be saved into her contact list. She takes a deep breath, and answers.  
It's a hospital on the other side of the city.  
"Yes, this is she. Yes, I'm in London right now, in fact."  
That's odd. Why do they need to know if she's in the area?  
"No, I didn't know I was anybody's emergency contact. No, I really don't know who you're talking about."  
Emergency contact? There was nobody she knows well enough for her to be their....   
Wait.  
"If I may ask, who was it who had my name down?"   
They won't say who they are.  
"Well, isn't it on their papers? If you could find an emergency contact, surely there's a name?"  
There's scuffling, a flipping of papers, before...  
Oh. Oh, dear god.  
The cafe noises are drowned out by white noise in her ears, and she's vaguely aware of her drink spiking onto her lap. She doesn't notice, doesn't care as she bolts from her seat. She dumps a handful of coins onto the counter before fleeing through the door, leaving the bell jiggling on its hook as she slams it. She's vaguely aware of the umbrella man and the detective watching from that doorway - she doesn't care what they hear.  
"You're sure? You're sure it's him?"   
As sure as they can be. If he can't tell them his name then there's only a limited amount of certainty to be had.   
"He - what? He can't remember anything?"  
A bullet to the head. Significant memory damage, almost guaranteed to be permanent.  
"But that's- that's impossible, that's physically impossible, he shouldn't even be here." She's walking faster, cutting through the crowds more briskly than he ever did - then he ever HAS.   
"Yes, I'm on my way. See if my name rings a bell. Thank you - thank you so much."

She'll do better this time. She'll give it everything she has - if he never remembers what they were before, they can figure out what they are now. James is back - her brother is alive. She's getting a second chance.

She'll do better.


End file.
